


Old and stolen texts

by ConvenientAlias



Category: Beauty and the Beast (1991), Disney Princesses, Sleeping Beauty (1959)
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Captivity, F/F, Stockholm Syndrome, Twisted and Fluffy Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-09
Updated: 2018-12-09
Packaged: 2019-09-14 13:34:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,635
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16913799
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ConvenientAlias/pseuds/ConvenientAlias
Summary: Maleficent, her library, and her captive.





	Old and stolen texts

The way Belle acts after Maleficent shows her the library, you’d think Maleficent had collected all those books just for her. That’s nowhere near the truth. The library has built up over decades, little by little. Books stolen along with other treasures from castles she laid to ruin, burned down or pillaged. Some books actually paid for, on days when she felt like disguising herself as a normal woman, wandering the marketplace, collecting trinkets. One or two books with more elaborate backstories: Books of spells she paid for dearly. Or that one book that a boy once offered her with trembling hands, bartering for his mother’s life because he thought the book so valuable it would be worth it. He couldn’t read. It was only a book of nursery rhymes, passed down through the family. Maleficent took it because it was clearly all he had to offer, and she is fond of boys who think themselves heroes. Sometimes it pleases her to let them win.

Belle bartered for her offensive father’s life with more valuable currency. Maleficent would take a beautiful young woman over a decrepit man any day. She thought at first to make Belle her servant, but she has yet to get around to assigning Belle any chores. For now she lets Belle wander the castle as she pleases and is amused by Belle’s wide-eyed reactions to everything: the Gothic sculptures, the walls of crumbling frescoes, the rusting weapons and instruments of torture. Belle is far too curious about everything. She isn’t nearly scared enough of Maleficent. But that is what makes it all so funny. Sometimes, too, it pleases Maleficent to dote on a favorite.

This is why she shows Belle the library. She knows it will please her, and she thinks she will please Belle for a little longer, at least. Until she decides what to do with her for good.

“This is…this is…this must be a thousand years old!” Belle holds up yet another crinkled parchment. She has been doing this for hours yet she still expects Maleficent to be shocked every time.

“That shelf mostly is,” Maleficent agrees drily.

“That entire…that whole…” Belle gapes.

Maleficent raises her eyebrows.

Belle turns back to the shelf. She pulls out parchment after parchment. Always very careful not to rip or smudge, but still hasty. The look in her eyes is almost manic. Maleficent is beginning to get bored. She says, “I can trust you with this, then?”

Belle jerks her head up, startled.

“There is business for me to take care of,” Maleficent clarifies. “We have dinner in another couple hours. You can tell me then what you’ve found.”

Belle bites her lip and nods, and Maleficent swoops out.

It probably galls her to talk about coming to dinner. When she first came here, she refused to eat with Maleficent even though Maleficent was being very nice to her. Maleficent had to send goons to drag her up. But now she is very civil and eats at the table with no need for persuasion, even though sometimes during conversation she’ll freeze up or send Maleficent an entirely bitter look.

She’ll get over it all eventually.

Maleficent takes reports from her goons, who are busily searching for the missing princess Aurora as always. As always, their reports are useless; they’ve found nothing. She gets no enjoyment from this routine. But she knows persistence is key; just because her intent has been frustrated so far doesn’t mean the little princess won’t get what’s coming to her in the end. Maleficent always gets what she wants.

Over dinner, Belle tells Maleficent about all the rare documents she’s found. Maleficent listens. She doesn’t know every piece of paper in her library, after all—not that Belle’s gotten through even a quarter of them—and she also doesn’t know much about what old texts mortals value these days. Some of Maleficent’s documents apparently would be worth a lot of money, or would be very helpful to modern scholars. Belle waxes lyrical about the possibilities for scholarship based off one old copy of an Aristophanes play, and Maleficent smirks at the idea. She has no intention of sharing her collection.

 But, “You may write anything you want about your finds, dear,” Maleficent says. “There’s plenty of paper, right? Write it up. We’ll add it to the library.” She stands and stretches. “And you may use the library again tomorrow, if you wish. I’ll be out, but I’ll have one of my little friends bring you the key. Just don’t take anything out of it, hm? You wouldn’t want to make me angry.”

Belle says, “I would never steal a book.”

She has the same look of indignation she had when Maleficent first locked her up in a dungeon. Back then she claimed of course she wouldn’t try to escape—she’d made a bargain, hadn’t she? And then Maleficent had let her out and she’d tried to escape only a day later. The indignation is probably real, but that doesn’t mean she doesn’t bear watching. Maleficent isn’t worried, though. The sculptures in the library are not as dead as they seem, and they will act as guardians. She will pretend to offer Belle this much trust. The gesture of politeness will put Belle in her debt.

So she nods and says, “Of course, darling. Well, I hope you have plenty of fun.”

* * *

 

Fall passes away and winter comes, as it always does. Maleficent does not like the snow very much. In her dragon form she is very susceptible to cold, and even in her more human body she stays inside and keeps the fires of her castle roaring.

Belle, however, loves the snow. It is one thing that can coax her away from her library. She insists on going for walks on the terrace and in the hibernating gardens, even though she stayed away from them all fall because she thought the gargoyles and thick-tangled roses were too creepy. Maleficent tells the goons to keep an eye on her and asks her about her day over dinner. She reports the snow consistency and the beauty of a sunset with the same level of gravity as she describes an ancient manuscript.

One evening she describes a sunset unparalleled, twinkling across ice-covered snow and extending far into the distance. Maleficent says, “The death of a day is certainly a beautiful thing.”

Belle says, “Yes.” But she is frowning. She stares down at her plate—she has not eaten much this evening.

“Is something wrong, love?”

“I…Yes.” Belle looks up. “Yes, you know there is.” Her fists clench. “What’s wrong is the same thing as always. I am a prisoner here! Far away my father is probably watching the same sunset and I—”

Maleficent watches her crumble. She used to hide her tears from Maleficent. But she has learned, since then, that there is no real reason to do so. Maleficent will never taunt her for them. She may sometimes be comforting. Today she walks down the length of the table to Belle’s side and presses a soothing hand to her shoulder. It tangles in her hair, which she wears down in the winter to keep her neck warm. Soft, brown hair. She is soft, too, when she is crying. Inside, she is crying all the time, although she pushes it back, and this is one reason Maleficent likes her so much.

“You are lonely, lately. That is my fault.” Maleficent massages her shoulder. “I have been neglecting you, haven’t I? You must forgive me.” She bends down, draping black cloth on Belle’s back, and kisses her cheek. “Tomorrow I will be better company, hm? You’re not alone, love.”

Belle nods. Her body is still trembling, but there are no more tears flowing out of her eyes. Maleficent offers her a black handkerchief, which she accepts.

“It is a hard thing, to watch the death of a day. But it will be a better day tomorrow,” Maleficent promises.

That night she brings Belle into her room to sleep. She does this, sometimes, when Belle seems particularly fragile. The bed is large enough that they do not have to touch each other, and Maleficent sleeps lightly and does not fear the possibility of attack. Belle is used to living in a small house with her father, with the rest of the village only a short walk away. Isolation wears on her. It will break her someday. Maleficent will put that day off for as long as possible.

In the morning she dresses in warmer robes than usual. As she promised, she goes with Belle on her walk. Belle is full of nervous energy. She has a comment on how the snow caresses every bump in the architecture. Maleficent has seen it all before but she pretends to be awed at Belle’s insights. Few of them are fresh, but some of them really are funny, and the look on her face is endearing.

There are no roses left in the garden, but the dead vines remind Maleficent of Belle’s father and his pitiful little crime. A flower for his Belle—ha. She rips out a handful of thorny vines and twines them together. She hands the result to Belle. “Here, love.”

Belle’s brow furrows.

“I made you a flower crown.”

Belle steps back. It is always small things like these that seem to unnerve her. Maleficent raises her eyebrows and, after a long moment of hesitation, Belle carefully fits the crown on, over her hood. The thorns won’t get at her head that way—they won’t even tangle in her hair. Still, it is amusing. Maleficent likes it, actually—Belle looks quite regal. Nothing like the small-town girl she used to be.

“Won’t you say thank you?” she asks. “Mortals are never grateful for my presents.”

“Thank you,” Belle echoes.

Maleficent nods. Quite right.

In the evening she is drained. The cold damages her inner fire. She cuts dinner short and hurries off to bed, sending Belle to her own room this time. She sleeps deeply. The next day she is still tired, but she remembers her promise to Belle. She lurks at a table in the library while Belle pours over a newer book of legends.

“Are you well, lady?” Belle asks. Maleficent blinks her eyes open. Belle is standing in front of her, book closed. The sun is going down. Maleficent has lost time.

“I’m always well,” she retorts. “And never good.” She rises. “And it’s time for dinner.”

After dinner, Belle doesn’t scurry away as usual. She asks—actually asks—if she may go with Maleficent. When Maleficent has tucked herself into bed, she just perches on the side, not even in her nightgown yet.

“Something wrong?”

“I thought I might read you a book,” Belle says. “Since you’re feeling badly.”

“You don’t have any books,” Maleficent says.

Belle pulls a small book out of her pocket.

Instantly Maleficent is out of bed and around the side. She grabs Belle’s wrist. “What is this, dear?”

“It is…”

“A book from the library.” Maleficent snatches it away. “I told you not to take them, didn’t I?”

“Yes, but—”

“I _told_ you not to _take_ them.”

Belle bites her lip. “I thought you might like for me to read to you. Sometimes, when my father is sick…”

“Oh, I know you have good intentions,” Maleficent says. “But I must have your obedience.”

She sighs. This will be rather tiring. But she summons up the slumbering dragon fire in her core, and blows the book into ash.

Belle stares. The ash crumbles down onto the floor, where the goons will sweep it up in the morning.

“We follow the rules, don’t we?”

Belle says, “That book was…”

“Your favorite, I know. I’ve seen you reading it.” Maleficent brushes her hands off. The ash it lighter than the color of her dress—it will need washing. “There are lots of books in my library. And they will stay in the library. Do you understand?”

Belle says, “You have no—You can’t just _burn_ books!”

Maleficent grabs her wrist again and squeezes. “I am going easy on you because I trust you meant well. This will not happen again.”

Belle is sullen for days, and Maleficent is sick. It is not a good week.

* * *

 

This is how they make up: Belle starts making careful conversation over dinner instead of silently glowering. Maleficent accepts the unspoken apology. She visits Belle in the library again—Belle was never banned, only warned—and tells Belle she can certainly read aloud to Maleficent if she wants, as long as they stay in here. Belle huffs a little but then she takes out another of her favorites and begins to read. She has a good voice. Maleficent asks her to do it again a few days later, and a few days after that.

She is very good at Shakespeare. She can do all the voices. Maleficent never joins in the playacting but she does interrupt to make comments. She loves _Coriolanus_ , the story of a man who knew he was too good for the flock. She loves Iago’s cleverness, the reckless heroism of Romeo and Juliet, the hunger of Lady Macbeth. She loves a good story, really. Any story will do.

Belle, of course, is fond of tales of adventure. Stories of travel to far-away lands. Of wars. It is a pity she will never leave this castle again. Sometimes Maleficent considers the possibilities. She does travel sometimes. She could take Belle to Agrabah, to Motonui, to Arendelle, to all the various countries she has visited over the years. She could watch the amazement on Belle’s face. But although these are pretty fantasies, she does not take them too seriously. It is better to keep Belle here. Here, Belle is all hers, and won’t get any ideas.

She can travel through her books.

Maleficent gives her one of her own favorite books one day. It’s her favorite because it was written by one of her enemies, years before she finally got her revenge on him. She’s in it. She tells Belle to read it out loud; it amuses her to hear her dearest captive speak the words of a man who, too, was her captive for a brief time. The words he wrote before he knew she would be the one to destroy him.

“The faerie who has been plaguing our land at last agreed to meet with us,” Belle reads. “Her name is Lady Maleficent, and she insists we call her that, ‘lady’, although she is not like any real lady of any proper Christian kingdom. She…”

She glances at Maleficent.

Maleficent says, “Go on.”

“…She is a magnificent woman. Very fearsome,” Belle says. “Her skin is smooth and changes color depending on the light, sometimes green, sometimes the color of stone. When I see her I can tell she is not human but far more powerful. It is frightening, but she is very beautiful nonetheless.”

Maleficent raises her eyebrows. Belle is staring down at her book, but she is not reading, though she pretends to be. That is not how the story goes; that is not how the man wrote it. He was not nearly so kind.

Belle returns to the script. “…We have agreed to offer her a tithe yearly in exchange for her protection. The tithe will consist of fifty sheep, fifty oxen, and five hundred pieces of gold.”

She glances over at Maleficent. Her face is guarded. She is wondering if Maleficent has picked up on her substitution, what Maleficent will say.

Maleficent smiles at her calmly, until she smiles back, pleased with herself. Ah, Belle. Belle, Belle, Belle.

Maleficent thinks she knows what she wants to do with her after all.

**Author's Note:**

> Me: How do I avoid literally using the words "crown of thorns."  
> #WhenYouWantToWriteDisneyFemslashButYou'reStillCatholicAF
> 
> Anyways comments and kudos will be much loved :) or you can find me on tumblr at convenientalias.


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